Pulling Focus
by black.taffeta
Summary: Their history is filled with heartbreak and betrayal but somehow they've glossed over it and become like a family. But when incriminating photos appear in the Prophet of the worst they can imagine, the group becomes crinkled and rough around the edges.


_The news breaks in the Sunday paper, accompanied by a set of intrusive photographs that are blurry but nonetheless leave no doubt about the identity of their subjects. _

_Those photos change everything. The six of them had been inseparable best friends for at least twenty years, and although their history was filled with betrayal and forgiveness, they all knew they would not recover from this. It went too deep. It went right to the soul of them and nothing would ever be the same._

* * *

><p>Mid-morning in East London, and somehow the British air seems hotter than any place on earth. Rose Weasley stands outside a cheap-brick house in a cheap-synthetic dress. Her pale skin is shining and the polka dot fabric clings. She's wishing she was shorter; maybe that way she could fold herself up and disappear into the shade of one of the cardboard boxes she's standing next to. She's wishing for once that she inherited her father's blazing red hair instead of a straight edition in her mother's dark brunette. It's soaking up the sun's rays and if it gets much hotter it's going to light the boxes on fire. But the heat of summer is paling in comparison to the boiling fury that's consuming her insides. Because Rose Weasley is waiting. And Rose Weasley <em>never <em>waits. Not for anything, or anyone.

* * *

><p>Lily Potter feels <em>alive.<em> She's wearing aviators and her auburn hair is blowing in the wind like a fucking rock star in a video clip. She's riding shotgun in a vintage car being driven by a sophisticated man. She's revelling in the choice of dark red nail polish- it looks just divine as she uses her skinny fingers to shield her lighter and spark a spliff. She smirks as she lights it, knowing that he's probably watching her right now. He's probably biting his lip and keeping her in peripheral view. He might even be thinking about pulling over. She glances across to check, and sure enough he's gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles are turning white. Just to make him squirm she shifts a little so that her singlet strap falls from her shoulder, exposing a lacy black bra. She feels the car accelerate as his leg tenses up. They're going too fast to stop at the approaching intersection, and then the engine is drowned out by horns as they run a red.

She smiles. This is the way she's always wanted things to be.

* * *

><p>"Please don't tell anyone," he pleads.<p>

Growing up in a bar Ingrid Longbottom has been exposed to lot of things. She grew up with the smell of spew at breakfast time and the sound of sad drunks beating down the door at morning tea, desperate for a drink. As a teenager she watched couples meet each other and cheat on each other and start fights in the back alley. As an adult, she realised that she had her fingers on the pulse of Diagon Alley's underbelly, and the power to squeeze hard enough to burst an artery of secrets. She glimpsed countless scandalous (and sometimes newsworthy) situations in her time at the Leaky Cauldron, but never she had never walked in on something like this.

Because this time, Ingrid had opened the door on something that would change her world as she knew it.

* * *

><p>Albus hears their ridiculous car before she sees it screech around the corner. They are playing Lily's music at full pelt- even though he doesn't recognise the song specifically; he knows it is Lily's by the generic rock beat and arrogant tone of the lyrics. Rose warned him when he arrived that Lily would be dropping off the keys with her new flashy boyfriend, but he is amazed at his little sisters' ability to become more audacious with every passing week. The red convertible pulls up in a fit of stereotypes: the silver-hub capped tyres marking the road as they brake too heavily, the good looking couple wearing aviators and mussed hair. Lily is dangling a cigarette in one hand and jangling keys in the other. Al barely has time to roll his eyes before he catches sight of the driver, who is looking at him from behind reflective sunglasses. For a moment he is distracted by the thought that he himself looks <em>terrible <em>in that reflection. His black hair is messier than usual, his glasses are skewed and dirty, and there are bags under his green eyes.

But then he sees past the glasses and sees the raised blonde eyebrows behind them. He sees the strong forehead and the slicked back platinum hair. He sees the pointed chin and the pursed lips. They are as familiar as the sound of fingernails dragging against a blackboard to him. Never mind wondering how the hell Scorpius Malfoy learned to drive. Never mind wondering what the hell he's doing with Lily. Al just has the urge to beat the crap out of him, for old times' sake.

He's scrunching up his fist when next to him, Rose's lanky body crumples up and collapses. He thought her fainting days were over...

* * *

><p>Hugo can't see Ingrid at the door but he can hear her voice.<p>

"I can't believe this," she says shakily.

He's naked on the bed but he doesn't bother moving. His dark skin contrasts with the crisp white sheets, and for once in his life, he is completely comfortable. He can practically see Ingrids shocked face now. Her bottom lip is probably quivering, and her normally rosy cheeks are drained. She's looking away and nervously brushing her curly blonde hair behind her ear. Being his older sisters' best friend, he'd grown up with her. He knows her. In fact until this very minute, he's known her a hell of a lot better than she knows him.

He's always known, for example, that she is in love with the man he's just slept with. The man standing at the door now, talking to her in his boxers- Lorcan Scamander, her best friend's fiancé's twin. He understands why Ingrid is in love with Lorcan because he is in love with him himself. He watches Lorcan lift his tanned, muscled arms to rest on his head tensely from behind. He listens to his deep breathing. He has made the decision that saying anything to Ingrid at this moment will make things worse. He is being strong and silent, as always. Choosing to grimace and run his hands through his shoulder length golden locks rather than start a fight he doesn't want to contribute to.

"I...I thought you were straight," she stutters. Hugo rolls his eyes. He loves the girl like a sister but he has no idea how she could have lived under the illusion that either of them were straight. She'd been surprised when he came out after Hogwarts, after he'd given her a designer crystal wand case for her 17th birthday. Supportive and sweet, but totally taken aback. Bless her naivety.

"I guess I'm not," sighs Lorcan. This is not enough for Ingrid, whom Hugo hears stifle a sob.

"But what about...what about us?"

"We went out on and off a few years ago, Ingrid," he replies sympathetically. "I'm sorry but I can't help what I am."

"Fuck you," she snaps. "Don't patronise me, I know what it was. I wasn't an idiot to think we had a future together. You lead me on."

He never led her on. Even Hugo knew that. She watched her best friend happily date his twin for over a decade, and in her mind her jealousy manifested in a belief that she and Lorcan would get married too, and the four of them would be the cutest thing since sliced bread.

"I'm sorry," Lorcan concedes.

Hugo hears her slam her hand on the doorframe in frustration. It is the sound of all her dreams for the future shattering at once, in a spectacular explosion of humiliation.

* * *

><p>"She's such a <em>fucking <em>drama queen," Lily laughs, not even bothering to get out and help her cousin. She inhales from the spliff deeply and blows it out in one long, sweet breath. On the pavement nearby Rose is laying still, her long, slender limbs sprawled out like limp noodles in the midday sun. Al is leaning over her and gently patting her cheeks.

Scorpius Malfoy knows his girlfriend wants him to laugh. She wants him to share in the joke of how funny it is that they've shocked her cousin into passing out by pulling up together, in a muggle car of all things. She looks like sex on a stick with her painted red lips wrapped around that joint and her cleavage on display, but she knows it. She's adjusting her bra strap so that he'll look at that rather than the unconscious brunette right next to them, and he can't help but think that Lily might have orchestrated the whole morning to play out this way. That this was a dry run for revealing their relationship to the rest of the family, and it was going perfectly. _She'd _found _him_ in a bar at Hogsmeade, as if she'd been looking. She'd seduced him and played with him and had him hanging off her every move. She'd convinced him to buy an expensive vintage car and taught him to drive her around in it. And now, her moment to shock had come, and Rose could not have played into it more perfectly. Her brother Al was playing his part perfectly too, clenching his fists and scrunching his face up in fury as he glared threateningly at him. Introducing a Malfoy to the Potter/Weasley clan was the ultimate _fuck you_ for never paying as much attention to young Lily as she clearly thought she deserved. But the image of his innocent rival from school in the gutter juxtaposed with his snickering nose-ringed girlfriend doesn't sit right, even for him. What is he getting out of the forbidden aspect of their relationship, he wonders? What will he do when this all blows up? What if it already has?

If a photographer were to come by at that moment, there would be no escaping the fallout...

* * *

><p>It's so hot that Lysander's fingers are swelling. He can feel his engagement band tightening on his left ring finger, and see it glinting viciously in the midday sun. It's constricting blood flow and starting to physically hurt. He could loosen it with his wand, but he accidentally left it in the Leaky Cauldron and he was too lazy to go back and get it yet. He twists it around a little hoping to ease the pain. It rolls over a blood vessel, sending a twinge all the way up his arm and making his finger start to throb. Automatically he drops his drink and the glass shatters into a hundred pieces on the clean wood floor. Whiskey runs rivers between the shards.<p>

Sighing regretfully, he looks around their empty flat for something to clean up with. The things he and Rose have collected together and apart over the years have been taken down. The African vases, the Indian tapestries, the American knickknacks, and the Australian works of art are all gone. They've given way to blank walls and a vacant room that will soon be filled with Lily Potter's awry furniture and lewd posters. He will miss this studio. They moved in here together right after they returned from their travels and made it their first home. They loved that the kitchen and the lounge room and the bedroom were all one room back then. They had breakfast in bed and made love on the countertops. They opened the French doors and let light flood in from the balcony overlooking Diagon Alley as they did the morning crossword and played jazz from the wireless for the shoppers to enjoy. Ice-cream, Chinese food and the pub were only ever a moment away. On the weekends they drank all night in the Leaky Cauldron and slept all day. It was bliss.

It hasn't been that way since they decided on a date for the wedding. Since then it's been all RSVPs, seating arrangements and floral choices. It's been yelling out to the style writer for the Daily Prophet who lives across the alley for advice on dress-robe fabrics and corsages. It's been schedules and meetings and being too tired to reach for each other when they fall into bed every night after a long day at work. It's been...well, work.

He acknowledges that things cannot stay the same forever, but that does not mean he's happy about it. He just wants peace, and lately, he's given up anything to get it. He didn't protest moving out because Rose had her heart set on it, and after seven years of dating and another four of engagement, you learn to pick your battles. He knows why Rose jumped at the opportunity to switch apartments with Lily when her housemate left for Europe. She wants the suburbs and the backyard. She wants the two bedrooms and the family dining room. She wants the schools and parks nearby. Lily was more than willing to oblige, of course. Their flat was the ultimate bachelorette pad compared to her little bungalow in the grungy Eastern suburbs, where Lysander will live with Rose when they return from their honeymoon in South America.

He starts thinking of the Inca trail as he dusts up the glass into his hand with a tissue. Maybe it will change things back to the way they were, he thinks. Maybe we'll wrap each other up and never want to let go. Maybe Rose will push aside thoughts of her job at the hospital and he will forget how much he hates working at the bank. Maybe they'll make love under the stars every night and he won't wonder what it's like to shag a girl he hasn't been looking at naked since they were fifteen. Maybe.

Presently his palm starts to sting unbearably and he looks down to see it is bleeding. Profusely.

How does he only have seven days left?

* * *

><p>"Does anyone else know?" Ingrid interrogates, stony faced. She really is beautiful, thinks Lorcan. She has perfect pink lips and high cheekbones. She has a head of hair like Grace Kelly. He feels sorry that he put that pained expression on her face.<p>

"No," Lorcan hears himself reply earnestly. He feels like he is not even in his own body right now, his life has changed so drastically in such a short space of time. He thinks of the last twenty four hours and they rush before his eyes. Meeting Hugo for catch-up drinks in the Cauldron. Him wanting to talk about how Ingrid had propositioned him again last week, but not wanting to be overheard by her bartending little sister. Hugo suggesting they get a room to talk about it further. Lorcan feeling his throat dry up and his stomach clenching. Telling himself as they climbed the stairs that Hugo knew he was straight and wouldn't ever make a move. Thinking that he hoped it wouldn't come to that but knowing deep down he wanted nothing more. Hugo was calm, confident and comfortable in his own skin. He was smart and sophisticated and so good looking it almost hurt. He'd always been strangely drawn to him, ever since they were kids.

And now they'd crossed a line together that they could never return from. They'd slept together. They'd torn each other's clothes off fuelled by a little bit of firewhiskey and a whole lot of frustration, and been denied the chance to talk about it the next day. Because Ingrid had seen Hugo's name on the hotel registers and come to say hi, and walked in on them.

"You have to keep this a secret," Ingrid says, bringing him back to reality. "No one else can find about you two, you hear me? Not until after the wedding. If the papers get wind of this they'll have a field day, and Rose wants them to focus on the ceremony. She's been planning it for a year and I'll be damned if I let the couple's horny little brothers ruin it for them."

He is baffled that even when her heart is clearly breaking, Ingrid can be thinking of her best friend and his brother. He has never seen her look so fragile, leaning against the doorframe in the shadows of the dark hotel. He reaches out to put his hand on the place where her shoulder meets her neck. She flinches away though, because like him, she hears footsteps coming down the hall. She slams the door in his face immediately and suddenly he is staring at its ancient wood surface.

"What's going on?"

Lorcan recognises the muffled voice on the other side of the door as Ingrid's sixteen year old sister Siv.

"Nothing," he hears Ingrid reply dismissively. "Difficult customers, that's all. Listen, your uncle Lysander left his wand here last night. It's behind the counter; can you please take it to his flat?"

"Fine. But don't call him my uncle, okay? He and Lorcan aren't even ten years older than me. It's weird."

Lorcan smiles as her footsteps head back down the corridor. For the first time in years, he feels young and full of promise.

* * *

><p>Siv is chaotic as she exits the Leaky Cauldron.<p>

She's carrying Lysander's wand and wondering in amusement if he's ever done anything dirty with it to Rose. She's wearing her oldest Hufflepuff quidditch training top and it's riding up, revealing her midriff. She winks at the cute boy at the ice-cream stall as she passes him, flicking her long blonde braid over her back. She's tapping fences with the wand as she passes them, sending sparks flying. She's walking with a skip in her step because her skirt is short and all the men are looking at her instead of their wives.

She reaches the part of the street where they live but she hasn't been there in a while and can't remember which building it is. There are two identical blocks of flats opposite each other, with identical red doors and iron-wrought balconies. One of them belongs to Rose and Lysander, but will soon belong to her decidedly cooler family friend Lily Potter, who has promised to buy her all the mead her heart desires. There are people bustling past her but despite being practically raised by these streets she doesn't see a familiar face. Luckily someone diverges from the street and goes to put a key in one of the red doors. She's probably the same age as her parents, in her mid fifties. She clearly works for the Daily Prophet, as she's wearing beautiful purple press robes. Judging by the camera around her neck and sample robes under her arm, she works for the style section.

Siv approaches her boldly, stepping up to meet her on the top step.

"Hi, I'm Siv," she says brightly.

The woman looks at her kindly. She's wearing a lot of make-up but she's quite pretty anyway. "You're a Longbottom," she smiles warmly. "I knew your parents."

Siv nods. "I'm looking for Lysander Scamander," she says. "Do you know where he lives?"

The woman looks slightly quizzical but tells her without asking questions that Lysander lives opposite, on the second floor. Siv grins and runs across, flying through the door and bounding up the stairs. She throws open the white door to their flat and yells 'surprise!' because she hasn't seen Lysander for a few summers and he probably remembers her as a little kid and not the young woman she has become.

But her yell is met echoes in against the walls and leaves only silence. She looks around the studio and realises quickly it is empty. There aren't any other rooms, so she walks to the bathroom to check. The door is open and the white tiled floors and walls are shining brightly, reflecting the light pouring in from the French doors. It nearly blinds her and as she walks in, she is blinking back overwhelming light. When she opens her eyes she is looking at handsome Lysander, sitting on the floor and clutching his hand. Dried blood covers his palms and runs down his arms and is even on his light blue robes. His blonde hair is hanging over his face instead of in its usual ponytail, and when he looks up she sees that tears are running from his big grey eyes.

Siv doesn't say a word. What he's dealing with looks like an adult problem that she can't begin to understand, so she simply sits down next to him and begins to heal the wound and clean the blood with her wand. She feels his chin hook around the nook of her neck. The warmth is almost unbearable in the heat of the day and it tickles, but she doesn't move. She listens to her own breathing and his breathing and hears their heartbeats start to beat in time.

* * *

><p><em>It starts with a strong brown arm, slithering slowly up a thin white leg.<em>

_It starts with breathing, heavy, and a protest caught long before the throat._

_Warm fingertips press against hot skin. The last rays of afternoon sun disappear from the kitchen. Their bodies entwine, skinny fingers clutching at thick lust._

_Exit Reason._

_Exit Pride._

_Flood gates open, and relief flows in._


End file.
